Paper Dolls
by Ambur
Summary: The dead girl's skin was alabaster white as if some skin bleaching agent had been used and her makeup was fresh and lovely. One eye had been removed before death. But perhaps the most interesting thing about the corpse was that the freshly manicured hands were folded over her chest and she was holding a paper doll.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

AN: I love Halloween! So I thought, why not a scary story! I hope you enjoy, please tell me what you think!

* * *

Her eyes fluttered open and she was shrouded in darkness. Attempting to get her bearings, she gingerly began to try and move only to find that she could not do so. Her ankles were bound as were her wrists as she was strapped down to a table.

She tried to cry out, but was only able to make muffled noises with the gag in her mouth.

"Oh good, you're a wake." He said from the corner of the room. She heard him come to stand beside her. "It's always better when you're awake. I like to make my molds more life like you know."

Slowly he worked the blind fold from her eyes and she blinked as her eyes absorbed the light painfully. "You have such lovely eyes." He said smiling. "I think I'll have to remove them. They're just too pretty to waste..."

She whimpered through the gag and shook her head no, pleading with the man with her eyes.

"It's so hard to find natural beauty these days don't you think?" he asked her moving away to grab something that was lying close by on the floor. "Everyone is so obsessed with youth and beauty. People undergoing ridiculous surgeries to try and stay looking young and only end up looking like something out of a freak show." He turned back to her holding a bucket. "And why is it that we always tell them how nice they look or that they look twnety years younger which is such absolute bull shit, you know?"

He sat the bucket down on the wooden table beside her head. "Why can't even just one of us be honest and say, hey you look ridiculous? Oh well, I suppose it's the media's fault. That and pop culture. Always telling young impressionable girls how they should and shouldn't look, giving impossible standards for the poor things to live up to. Whatever happened to classic beauty? You know, like Marilyn Monroe and Rita Haywood. Did you know that Marilyn was a size 16?"

He moved away from her again to grab something else from the floor. "You're too thin. But it's not your fault. I'm sure that this is how you think you are supposed to look. But at least you're a natural beauty and that is rare. In fact, that's what made me notice you and what made me chose you. I took one look at you and knew you were special."

He took the putty knife that he had just picked up from the floor and began to mix the substance that was in the bucket. He looked over at her and wiped at the tears that spilled from her eyes. "Now don't you worry. I promise that I'll take good care of you. And I'm a real professional. I'll capture your true beauty as it really is. And you're already so close to perfect, I won't have to do much to fix you."

He pulled the putty knife from the bucket. It was coated with a large glop of plaster. "Now hold still."

Her eyes widened in horror as she watched the putty knife begin to descend towards her face. She began to scream through the gag and struggle violently against her bonds. "Now you stop that." He said with an edge to his voice. "You're going to make me angry and that might cause me to make a mistake."

He tried to place the glop of plaster on her forehead when she bucked against her bonds and knocked the putty knife from his hand. "Not nice!" He screamed at her. "And I thought you were such a nice girl."

He bent down and retrieved the putty knife and laid it on the table. "I can see that I was very wrong about you. Your beauty is deceitful too, just like all of the others. Now I'm not going to take as much care with you because you don't deserve it. "

He stomped away but returned in less than a minute. He grabbed her head holding it still while he worked a leather belt through a slit on the right side of the table. Once pushing it through, he laid the belt across her forehead and worked it through the second slit on the left side of the table. He pulled the belt tight and she could not longer move her head.

She started sobbing and pleading through the gag. "Oh no, it's too late for that missy. You showed me your true colors and I'll have to discipline you." He chastised softly.

He scooped up another glop of plaster onto the putty knife and started spreading it over her forehead. She screamed when she felt the heavy thick substance on her skin. He scooped another glop onto the knife and spread it down the side of her face and over her chin.

"You don't deserve it, but I'm going to go ahead and make the mold of your face. You are so pretty." He said humming pleasantly as he covered more of her face. "Oh! I almost forgot your lovely eyes. I can't waste those." He laid the putty knife down and turned to his left picking up something from a small work bench. When he turned back to face her, she began to beg and plead. In his hand he held a surgeon's knife.

He grabbed her chin and smiled at her. "Now hold still." She screamed loudly through the gag as the surgeon's knife slowly descended towards her left eye.

* * *

Lestrade looked down at the body of the dead girl and sighed. This never got easier, no matter how many years that he had been doing this. And it didn't help that this was the third dead girl found over the last three months. One a month so far and for the most part it was always the same with the exception of how the girl was actually killed. She was always laid out, dressed and posed with such care. Her skin was always alabaster white as if some skin bleaching agent had been used and her makeup was always fresh and lovely. One eye was also always removed before death. But perhaps the most interesting thing about the corpses was that the freshly manicured hands were always folded over her chest and there was always a paper doll in her hands.

"Lestrade." John Watson called as he made his way over to where Lestrade stood and where the body laid. Sherlock followed closely behind with his eyes already sparkling with excitement. Lestrade could actually see the wheels turning in Sherlock's mind and he didn't know whether he was glad that Sherlock found such delight in a case like or if it made him sick.

But if Sherlock was delighted, it meant that the world's only consulting detective, the absolutely brilliant Sherlock Holmes was devoted to solving this case. It would mean that hopefully sooner rather than later, a very evil and sadistic killer would be off the London streets. So Greg Lestrade felt it more prudent to ignore his discomfort at the fact that Sherlock looked like a little boy opening his Christmas presents as he knelt down beside the girl's body.

Sherlock had been looking over the body for less than a minute when he drew himself back slightly and peered into her staring, shockingly white dead face.

"What is that" Sherlock asked in a detached voice.

"A crystallized tear." Lestrade snapped unable to keep the irritation from his voice at the lack of emotion from Sherlock.

"Oh Jesus." John mumbled softly. "Poor girl."

"Yes poor girl, but there's not much we can do about that now is there?" Sherlock said as he began looking over her body again. "Except find her killer and give her parents some peace."

Sherlock stopped again after a few moments and looked up. "Where is Anderson?"

"Vacation." Lestrade said. "Molly is on her way."

Sherlock's face contorted. "Molly? Why on earth is she coming?"

John groaned. "Because she's a bloody brilliant pathologist and could be of assistance at a crime scene you idiot."

Sherlock looked at John. "I know she's a bloody brilliant pathologist. You're the idiot." He sniffed.

John pursed his lips. "Then why did you ask if she was coming?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Because this is Saturday my dense little friend and Molly Hooper does not do weekends."

Lestrade sighed. "I called her from home, can we please get back to the crime scene. Now John, how long would you say she's been dead?"

John knelt down to his knees and touched her body gently. "Less than ten hours."

"She was laid out with a paper doll." Lestrade said running his hands through his hair.

"Of course she was." Sherlock said. "Left eye taken this time. Green, same as the others."

"Why did he do that to her skin? Her skin looks as if she's been soaked in bleach. What's the point?" John asked Lestrade.

Sherlock lifted her hand and sniffed."She hasn't been soaked in bleach." He said turning her small lifeless hand over in his. "Although her skin has been bleached to give it this stark white pigmentation. And I should think it's obvious why he does it John."

"Well it's not obvious to me." John said.

Sherlock sighed. "My God John, look at what's right in front of you. Look at the pink and white frilly dress. The girl's hair in plaits with pink ribbons. The pink ballet slippers and look at her makeup. She's a doll John. A life size doll, made perfect in death."

* * *

Dr. Molly Hooper stood behind the yellow crime tape and watched the three men who had become a constant steady in her life working over the body of the dead girl. Sherlock and John were on their knees looking over the body while Lestrade stood back, his chin resting against his hand while he watched Sherlock work asking questions here and there.

Molly felt her body tremble slightly. She had not wanted to assist with the crime scene, but Lestrade had been desperate. With Anderson on vacation and his fill in Dr. Morris refusing to help on any case that included Sherlock Holmes, Molly was just about the only other person that Lestrade could have counted on.

It wasn't that she didn't want to help; it's just that these particulars murders were bothering her more than usual. She had been called out on the first murder because Anderson had been sick with terrible stomach flu. She had been called out to the second murder because Sherlock had pissed Anderson off so badly that he had walked away from the dead girl, hailed a cab, and drove him without so much as a backward glance.

And then it was the bodies themselves. The way they that had been placed and dressed made Molly's skin crawl. The girl's looked like life size china dolls with one green eye and one glass blue eye. It was just beyond creepy and it made her blood run cold. She had also been having nightmares off and on over the past three months, the first one starting the very same night that she had been called out to assist with the first body. And her dreams as of late were becoming more frightening and real to her. She was barely sleeping and when she did manage to fall asleep, within moments she was screaming herself awake due to the night terrors. She honestly didn't know if she was cracking up or just needed a vacation.

She could feel her body tensing at the thought of going over there and having to look at another dead girl, but she had promised Greg that she would help. She also wasn't looking forward to facing Sherlock on the chance that he actually paid any attention to her and noticed how terrible she looked. She didn't think she could deal with his insults or him picking her part as he deduced what was wrong with her.

She sighed. Might as well get this over with. She lifted the yellow tape and walked underneath it making her way slowly towards the three men.

* * *

Sherlock watched Molly as she talked to Lestrade discussing what she had found and what she would be looking for when she performed the autopsy in the morning. He noticed how pale she was and how her hands shook slightly as she spoke. She had deep purple circles under her eyes and she was too thin. Her shoulders hunched slightly, as if she barely had the energy to even stand up straight. And she seemed to have a difficult time concentrating when she was examining the body. Her movements were jerky and anxious and she was very careful to not actually touch the body, having John to move the body if she needed to inspect something in particular or more closely. If Sherlock didn't know better, he would say that Molly was frightened by something.

Molly finished talking with Lestrade and watched him as he walked away from her towards some other policemen that were standing close by. She pulled her jacket tightly around her neck, put her head down, and began to walk away. She had taken no more than three steps when she found her path blocked by the very man she had been trying to avoid.

"Molly." Sherlock said.

"Sherlock." She said barely glancing at him, moving to step around him, but he moved with her blocking her path.

"Molly you aren't sleeping and you've lost eleven pounds." He began. "You barely looked at the dead girl's face and you didn't touch her yourself, not once which is rather odd behavior for a woman who tends to the dead for a living."

She swallowed hard and forced herself to look at him. "I'm tired Sherlock. I don't feel like talking."

"I know you're tired, didn't I just inform you that you haven't' been sleeping." Sherlock regarded her shrewdly. "I want you to tell me what is wrong."

She sighed deeply. "Why?"

He blinked in surprise. "What do you mean why? We're friends aren't we?"

"Are we?" She asked. "Is that what we are?

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "Of course we are Molly. I am your friend and I care about you. Why is that so hard to believe?"

She snorted. "Did you really just ask me that Sherlock? Look, I'm fine. I've just been having a hard time sleeping as of late. I'm stressed at work and…"

"Please don't insult me by lying to me. There is nothing going on at work and you are not fine. You've been acting different for three months now and…" His eyes widened and he looked at her. "Oh I see…yes…of course…since the first dead girl was found."

She let a long slow breath out and fidgeted nervously. "I don't know what you're talking about Sherlock. I am tired and I would like to go home. Now please let me go." She demanded trying not to look at his face instead looking over his shoulder into the darkened alley way. "And I really don't see how it's any of your business what is…" The words caught in her throat.

"Molly?" Sherlock said her name as he noticed the change come over her face.

She didn't respond instead quickly stepping around him and walking towards the alley. She stared ahead as if transfixed.

Sherlock moved to stand behind her and stared into the darkness. "Molly, what are you looking at?"

Molly took another step towards the alley way when Sherlock took hold of her arm. "Molly!" He said a bit more forcefully.

"What?" She said as if in a daze.

"I said what are you looking at?" He asked shaking her arm to get her attention.

"I'm not…" She said softly before she shook her head and turned to look at him. "I'm sorry what did you say?"

He groaned. "I asked you what you were looking at. What is wrong with you Molly?"

"Nothing. I just…" She looked back towards the alley. "I just thought I saw someone…" She looked back at him. "Nothing is wrong with me Sherlock. My eyes are just obviously playing tricks on my due to my exhaustion which you are prolonging by keeping me here. Good night!" She snapped and walked away from him.

Sherlock watched her go. When she disappeared in the crowd he turned back to the alley and walked to the edge of the walkway. He peered hard into the blackness and strained his ears listening. He saw and heard nothing. "There's nothing there." He said under his breath and turned walking away.

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Leave a review and tell me what you thought! Hugs!


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** A huge thanks to all my reviewers, followers, and favoriters :):) I didn't know if anyone would be into this one or not. I'm so glad that you like it! Thank you all so much for giving it a chance!

**Warning:** Mild torture scene towards the end of the chapter and general creepiness ensues, but hey, it's a scary story right?

**PS There is some slight fluff in this if you squint :)**

* * *

Molly bolted upright in her bed screaming in sheer terror. She stared ahead watching as the corpse moved closer and closer, her mouth opening and closing as if she were a fish out of water. The blood dripped down the empty socket where her left eye should be and dripped down onto Molly's hand.

Molly screamed again and threw the covers back, scrambling out of bed. Her foot caught in the duvet and she fell to the floor. Molly turned to see if the girl was still standing over her bed but she was gone. Molly's head moved wildly back and forth as she looked around her bedroom. She sat on the floor, listening and waiting. After what seemed like an eternity, she finally found the courage to move. Molly pushed herself up onto her knees and approached her bed, reaching out to pull the covers back.

She felt the chill move across the back of her neck and she gasped quietly, her body trembling. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears yet she mustered the courage to slowly turn her head. She let go of the breath she was holding when she saw that the corpse was not behind her. Molly's shoulders relaxed and she turned back to her bed only to be met by the dead girl who was now crawling over the mattress towards her, her alabaster white hand bloodied holding out a paper doll to Molly.

Molly released a garbled scream her fear choking her as the girl crawled closer. Molly fell backward onto her bottom and she scrambled away watching in horror as the girl crawled down from the bed and onto the floor. The murdered girl crawled towards Molly with her bloodied hand still clutching the paper doll and her empty eye socket leaving a trail of blood.

"This isn't real Molly screamed." She shouted as she backed herself into a wall. "You're not real."

The girl smiled at her with a sort of sickeningly twisted smile, her blood red hair cascading over her shoulders and hanging down around her face as she continued to crawl closer and closer. Molly closed her eyes and shook her head no. "This isn't real." She whispered. "You're dead. I'm so sorry, but you are."

Molly heard a soft feminine laugh and felt the cold icy breath against her ear. Molly slowly opened her eyes and screamed again, her hand covering her mouth. She stared in shock at the ghastly apparitions in front of her. The three murdered girls were all kneeling in front of her holding their hands out to her and each one clutching a paper doll. The voices all began speaking simultaneously.

"_Maggie's doll_… "

"_Isn't she pretty"_

"_Her eyes are all wrong…"_

"_Wake up little Molly, wake up…"_

"_Do you like my little dolly little Molly"_

"_Wrong…her eyes are wrong…"_

Molly put her hands over her ears and began to shake her head violently. "No! This isn't real! Go away!"

"_He'll take you with him to the dead…"_

"_Beware little Molly…"_

"_Her eyes are so pretty…"_

"_To the dead little Molly…he will take you to the dead…"_

"Stop it!" Molly screamed. "Just stop it!" She jerked her arm away when she felt the icy fingers closing around her wrist. "No! I said stop it!" She screamed, snapping her eyes open and jerking away.

Molly sat upright in her bed, gasping for air before releasing a blood curdling scream. Her eyes darted around her room. The sunlight was just beginning to peep through the blinds in her room. "Oh God…it was a dream. Just another nightmare."

She looked around her room and clutched her duvet closer to her. "Toby?" She called.

She heard a rustling under her bed before she saw the orange and white fat ball of fur appear from underneath her bed. He leapt gracefully onto the mattress in spite of his size and sauntered over to her purring loudly. He climbed into her lap and looked up expectantly at her.

"You think I'm crazy don't you?" She asked pulling him into her arms. He responded by purring louder and curling himself into her chest. "Oh Toby, what's happening to me? Why do I keep dreaming these terrible things? Those poor, poor girls." She said, a few tears gliding over her flushed cheeks.

She looked over at her alarm clock. 6:30 am. "Ugh…might as well get up I suppose. I'm supposed to be meeting Greg Lestrade at 7 am." She groaned, placed a kiss on Toby's head and put him aside on the mattress to climb out of bed. She threw her legs over the side and walked into her bathroom. She flipped the switch and looked at herself in the mirror. "God I look ghastly." She turned the faucet to cold and turned the water on. She looked back at herself. "Oh well, it's just Greg, right?"

Leaning over the sink, she scooped cold water into her hands and splashed her face. She grabbed her lavender scented soap, lathered her hands and then her face, rinsing with the cold water. She grabbed her towel and began to dab the droplets of water from her skin. Her eyes opened wide and she stared into the mirror. She put the towel down with a trembling hand and slowly raised her arm to eye level. "Oh my God…" She cried when she saw the bruises wrapped around her wrist in the shape of finger marks. "What is happening to me?" She whispered softly.

* * *

Molly ran down the stark white corridor of St. Bart's towards the morgue. She was nearly thirty minutes late for meeting Greg. Molly turned the corner and saw the two metallic doors that would lead into the morgue and she quickened her pace, her heals clicking rapidly as they hit the tile. She shoved the doors open when she reached the morgue and burst inside, already removing her coat and apologizing. "Greg, I am so sorry that I'm late. I was a bit…" She stopped when she looked up and saw that Greg was not alone. "Sherlock…why are you here?" Molly asked breathlessly.

Sherlock frowned, slightly stung by her obvious displeasure at seeing him. "Because this is my case Molly."

"Actually it's my case." Greg interrupted. "You are only here to consult."

Molly cast her head downward and walked past the two men without another word. "Morning John." She mumbled when she noticed him standing quietly to the side observing.

She set about quickly to get to work, hoping to ease the tension in the room by ignoring it. She pulled the body of the recently murdered girl from the refrigerator, pulling the metal table into the middle of the floor, the wheels squeaking loudly.

She put her apron on, set her tools on the tray beside her, and began to work without ever looking up at the three men whom she could feel were staring at her.

She started the first incision when she suddenly shivered. She looked around the room to see if anyone had opened a door or window to allow in a breeze, but everything was closed as it should be. She glanced at Sherlock and John who were listening to something that Greg was saying, none of them looking as if they had noticed or felt a breeze of any kind. Molly shrugged and went back to her work. She began to slice through the skin, making the customary V incision when her wrist was grabbed in a vice grip. The murdered girl's right eye suddenly moved and focused on her. Molly cried out and tried to pull away, looking at the three men who stood oblivious in the corner, their back to her still talking with one another.

"Sherlock!" She cried. He did not turn around or even seem to notice that she had called out to him. "Sherlock, Greg, John, please…" She screamed again, trying to pull her wrist away. The men still had their backs to her as if they couldn't hear her.

The grip on her wrist became painful as the dead girl pulled a struggling Molly downward towards her lips. Molly could feel the icy lips brushing against her ear as the girl spoke to her.

_He's going to take her…her eyes are wrong…like yours…wrong…all wrong…_

Molly screamed and jerked her wrist free jumping backward and bumping into the tray sending all of her tools flying and they crashed loudly to the floor.

Molly turned to find Sherlock, Greg, and John staring at her. "Molly, are you okay?" Greg asked.

She could feel the flush creep up her neck. She looked down at her wrist and over at the girl who was laying still and peaceful. Molly could feel the tears stinging her eyes. "Yes…yes I'm fine." She said out loud. _Even though I'm going bloody mad_. She said inwardly quickly wiping the lone tear that had escaped.

She bent down and began picking up the tools from the floor. Sherlock approached and bent down to help her, taking her trembling hand in his.

"Molly…" He said softly.

"Sherlock I'm fine." She said trying to pull her hand away. She refused to make eye contact.

"No you are not." He said gripping her hand tighter. "What has you so frightened?"

"Nothing!" She snapped. "I told you that I am fine!" She tried to pull her hand away again, but he still stubbornly held onto her. She tugged violently trying to pull away, but only succeeded in working the sleeve of her lab coat upward.

Sherlock's gaze narrowed onto her wrist and the bruises. "Who did this?" he asked.

For the first time since spilling her tools Molly looked at him, her eyes wide. She looked as if she had just been caught doing something that she should not have been doing.

"I…no one…I hit my wrist against the door knob." She stuttered out, jerking her wrist free. She picked up a handful of the tools and stood, sitting them back on the tray. She looked at Greg. "Um…I'm not feeling very well Greg…I think I'll have Dr. Ellis finish this."

"Yes of course." Greg barely managed to say before she had turned and was on her way out the door. Sherlock laid the tools that he had in his hand down and went after her.

"Molly…" He called after her as she walked quickly down the hall way, her heels clicking on the tile.

Sherlock easily caught up with her and grabbed her arm, turning her to face him. "Molly what in the hell is going on with you? And do not lie to me! These are clearly finger marks." He said holding her arm up at eye level. "Tell me who did this?"

She looked up at him and opened her mouth to speak when she saw the murdered girl with blood red hair hovering behind and above his head. The girl smiled at her, but the smile looked more like a grimace. She slowly raised her finger and put it to her lips. _Shhhh…_the corpse whispered before giggling.

"I have to go now Sherlock." Molly said still staring behind him.

"No you don't." Sherlock snapped. "Tell me what is going on or you're not going anywhere."

"Let go of me Sherlock!" Molly said in a voice bordering on hysterical.

"No." He snapped. "I'm concerned for you Molly and I'm not letting you go until…"

She looked at him then. "How dare you?" She cried. "Stop talking to me like I'm yours! I'm not yours! You don't want me in that way remember?"

The corpse smiled at her as if she approved of what Molly was saying. _He'll only hurt you…men always do…he'll take you to the devil with him little Molly…run away before it is too late…_

Molly's gaze returned to the girl. Sherlock turned and looked behind him. "What are you looking at?" He asked in a gentler tone of voice.

"I…nothing…I have to go." She said pulling away from him, both relieved and surprised that he let her. She walked away from him praying that he would not follow and he didn't.

Sherlock watched her go, everything inside of him telling him to go after her, that something was terribly wrong and she needed him. But something just as strong was telling him to let her go. He wondered if it was cowardice on his part, but he stood silently watching her disappear around the corner.

She had told him to not speak to her as if she was his, but after everything that they had been through together, didn't it seem right that she should be his? Hadn't he always considered her his in some way or another…His pathologist, His helper, His secret keeper, His friend and confident, His Molly.

Was it something that needed to be spoken aloud? Perhaps it did. She needed to hear it so that she would understand. He needed to speak the words so that he could face what he feared most…loving her and accepting that he loved her. And that he had for a long time.

* * *

"I brought you some company." He said smiling at the caged girl as he dragged another struggling girl into the dimly lit room. "I thought you would appreciate someone to talk to. I know that it gets so lonely down here."

The caged girl watched horrified as he dragged the other girl over to his work table. He scooped the crying girl into his arms and laid her onto the table, easily holding her down as he snapped the shackle onto her right wrist, then her left. He moved down to her feet and grabbed her right ankle, shackling it to the table and then her left ankle. "There, aren't we all comfortable now."

He moved back to look down at the girl he had just strapped down. "I'm very excited. I wasn't going to work on my molds tonight, but you are just so lovely. A true natural beauty and your eyes, they are so full of expression and life! Just stunning! That's what you are my dear."

He turned and left the room only to return a few moments later. He laid the jars that he carried in his hands down and went to retrieve his bucket. "You're skin is too brown. I know that's not your fault, I mean we can't help the genetics that we were born with can we? But lucky you I have just the thing."

He reached above her head and grabbed a pair of scissors from the table and began to cut her blouse open. She screamed through her gag. He peered down at her as if he were insulted. "I would never take such liberties with a girl without her permission thank you very much! I'm not going to touch you inappropriately. I just need a clean canvas in which to work."

He finished cutting her blouse open and then proceeded to cut her bra open. Her breasts pooled free and he grabbed a tarp that was lying on the floor and covered her. "See, I respect your modesty." He set the scissors down and picked up one of the jars. He opened the lid and put it to the side. He looked behind him grabbing a pair of surgical gloves. He put them on and scooped a large amount of the substance from the jar onto his hand.

He sat the jar down and looked at the girl. "I am sorry, but this is going to burn. But you'll be so lovely when I'm done."

He slid the tarp down towards her waist and started rubbing the substance into her chest before sliding his hand between the crevices of her breasts. He scooped another handful out of the jar and began coating her left breast with the substance. The girl began to struggle and strain against her bonds before she opened her mouth and screamed in pain.

"Now now." He said patiently. "I'm sure it's not quite that bad. Besides, just think how beautiful your skin will be. Snow white in color and creamy soft." He said over her screams.

He began to hum as he worked, scooping more of the substance onto his gloved hand and covering her right breast before moving his hand down to her stomach. She screamed and cried, struggling violently and pleading.

The caged girl shook her head, covering her ears to try and block out the terrible sounds. Tears streamed down her face as she whispered. "I'm sorry…I'm so sorry…Oh God…please…help her….someone help her….help us….please….please….please….

It would be another two hours before the girl shackled to the table screamed out her last breath. Then there was nothing but silence.

* * *

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